


The Sword in the Darkness

by MedievalGenius



Series: For This Night, And All The Nights To Come [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Drama, Family, Gen, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedievalGenius/pseuds/MedievalGenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the madness of Aerys II Targaryen continues to grow, Prince Rhaegar begins to take matters into his own hands, knowing that he may be leading himself and others on the path to glory or certain destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story in a series of stories that will deal with the events of Roberts Rebellion, The Greyjoy Rebellion, The War of the Five Kings and the Second War for the Dawn. It will be sticking as close to canon as possible, despite it being AU. 
> 
> Everything belongs to GRRM. This is his sandbox. I am merely playing in it.

Ser Harlan Grandison stood watch at the entrance of the long tunnel. Well, it was more like leaning than it was standing and truth be told it took everything he had just to stay awake. He was advanced in his age, having served as a member of the Kingsguard for more years that he could begin to remember. His memory had failed him long ago and as the years went on, everything else soon followed. If he had not sworn a vow to serve the rest of his life, Ser Harlan was certain he would have already been replaced.

A wind blew through the tunnel and Ser Harlan could feel the cold deep in his tired old bones. Despite the pain and difficulty it caused him he crept closer into the tunnel itself and stood near a lighted brazier in a feeble attempt to stay warm. He had been warm, sleeping soundly on his feather bed not more than a hour past, when he was suddenly awoken by Ser Arthur Dayne. Ser Harlan had shot his sworn brother an incredulous look at having been roused from his slumber, but said nothing as he got up from his bed to dress.

"No," Ser Arthur said as Ser Harlan had reached for the standard white silks that made up part of the Kingsgaurd uniform. "Put these on."

Ser Arthur had tossed Ser Harlan a plain, tattered roughspun tunic and pants with a matching cloak.

"What is this?" he croaked as his hands tried to feebly catch the clothing only to watch them fall without ceremony to the ground near his feet.

"It is our uniform this night, dear brother," Ser Arthur said as he bent down to pick up the clothes and place them in Ser Harlan's hands. "Our duty tonight requires that we not be ourselves."

"And what duty, may I ask, would that be dear Ser?"

"A duty of the utmost importance brave knight," said a tall shrouded figure that stood in the doorway.

Ser Harlan recognized the voice at once and began to clumsily dress himself. When he had finished, Ser Arthur had urged him to raise the hood of his cloak and follow him into the hallway. There he saw two more of his sworn brothers, Whent and Lord Commander Hightower, standing next to the shrouded figure speaking in whispers.

"Are you sure this is a wise decision, Your Grace?" Hightower asked stealing a glance back at Ser Harlan.

"We need someone to guard the tunnel to ensure that we are not disturbed. Father grows ever more suspicious now that he has the eunich whispering treason in his ears at every turn."

"But why him?" Whent asked bluntly. "We could have brought any of our brothers with us. If we need someone to guard us, Your Grace, why not somebody more capable of doing so? Ser Barristan, perhaps."

"Ser Barristan is a man of tremendous honor and loyatly," the shrouded figure said plainly. "Too much loyalty. A true King's man. I am not sure yet, whether or not he can be trusted. I can't have him running to Father the moment we approached him."

Their whispers silenced as Ser Harlan joined them. The shrouded figure smiled graciously at him, "Ser Harlan, heed no mind to their words. You are a loyal man of the Kingsguard and I am honored to have you accompany us tonight."

"Your Grace?" asked Ser Harlan meekly. "May I inquire what exactly it is we will be doing?"

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen only smiled at him from beneath his black cloak.

"In time, good Ser. All in good time."

Prince Rhaegar nodded to Ser Arthur, who looked around the hallway before approaching a nearby brazier. He tapped it lightly and within minutes the wall behind it swung open, revealing a hidden passage way.

"Come Ser Harlan," Prince Rhaegar said as he followed Ser Arthur into the tunnel with Whent and Hightower behind them.

And so he went. Following his sworn brothers down the narrow passage that led beneath the castle. He had always known that there were secrets to the castle. Some were known and others were merely happened upon. He was not a stranger to the stories that were told about these so called 'hidden gems'. People were said to get lost in tunnels like these all the time,never to be heard from again. A part of him filled with unease over the very thought of it

They did not have to walk long. After what seemed like less than a half of an hour they had come upon a large empty cavern surrounded by a large hot spring and surrounded by entrances to a least a dozen or more tunnels. Prince Rhaegar stopped and pointed to a lighted tunnel at the other end of the hot springs. As they walked, Ser Harlan's back began to ache. King Aerys had seldom use for him these days and he spent more often times than not at rest. Silently he wondered if that was the reason that Prince Rhaegar had called on him. Whatever they were doing here, he did not want his father to know, and what better way to keep it from him than to use a man he no longer needed. 

When they reached the tunnel's entrance, Prince Rhaegar turned to him and put a hand on his shoulder, "Now, Ser Harlan, its important that you stay here. Guard the entrance from anyone who may wish to enter."

Ser Harlan thought the Prince's words to be strange. _Who would know about this place? Why would they want to come down here?_ He did not voice concern, however, but merely nodded. Ser Harlan watched in silence as Prince Rhaegar and his three sworn brothers walked down the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness.

That had been almost two hours ago, maybe longer, Ser Harlan was having trouble keeping track of time. His back and his bones ached so, he was hoping they would not be much longer. As he huddled closer to the brazier, Ser Harlan could hear the echo of voices coming from further down the tunnel. He recognized that of Prince Rhaegar and his sworn brothers, but there was another voice he did not recognize. A deep, almost gutteral voice that boomed even at such a distance.

"A tourney?" the voice asked quizzically.

"It is a bold move, that I know," Prince Rhaegar answered. "But it is the only way that I know of to gather so many high lords without raising my Father's suspicions."

"True," the voice replied. "But we just had tourney last year in honor of Lord Steffon, to have another so soon -"

"Then we wait a year," Prince Rhaegar interrupted. "Ser Oswell has already spoken with his brother and Lord Whent has agreed to throw the tourney, we need only to tell him when."

"While I agree that something must be done about your father, are we sure that this would be such a wise course of action?" another, softer voice questioned. "King Aerys will not simply yield. I see no recourse that does not end in bloodshed. The North has always done what is best for its people. That is why Torrhen Stark bent the knee to begin with."

"And was forever known as The King Who Knelt," the deep, booming voice replied. "And his descendants have lived with it ever since. This is our chance. We cannot pass up such an opportunity when it presents itself to us."

"We all want this, my Lord, but Aerys - "

"Aerys hasn't been the same since Duskendale," Ser Arthur interrupted. "He barely sleeps or eats. Refuses to leave the castle. Refuses to see anyone unless he sits in judgement of them. And surrounds himself with those who whisper poisons in his ear while plotting behind his back."

"Tywin Lannister rules the Throne and everyone knows it," Whent added. "He takes on more and more responsbility as time goes on. He is a good Hand, don't get me wrong, but he is ambitious."

"And prickly." Prince Rhaegar cleared his throat as he continued. "He does not take slights to his honor lightly, and everyone knows this as well. Father did him a great dishonor when he refused to marry me to his daughter Cersei. And since Father returned from Duskendale, I fear his emnity has only grown. He may not remain Father's Hand for long and if Lord Tywin is no longer in service to the crown . . . "

"You really feel that Lord Tywin would plot against Aerys himself?" the soft voice interjected. "Would he be so bold?"

"If you need a reminder of what Tywin Lannister is capable of I would be glad to sing you The Rains of Castamere," Ser Arthur stated defiantly. "My Lord."

Prince Rhaegar gave a long sigh, "I have no doubt that while he acts as a dutiful Hand, he is just waiting, biding his time to dispense his own brand of justice."

The softer voice spoke again full of fear, "All the more reason not to go through with this foolish plot! We do not need to give Tywin Lannister the means for his revenge."

"Nor do we want a damnable Lion sitting the Iron Throne!" the deep voice screamed. "But that is what will happen, mark my words, if we do not remove Aerys, Tywin will."

The soft spoken man said nothing after that. Nor did anyone else. Ser Harlan was unsure of what he was hearing but was sure he should not be hearing it. Despite the chill in his bones he walked away from the brazier and returned to his post outside the tunnel's entrance. Prince Rhaegar and his sworn brothers were not long after that. They made their way back towards the tower quietly, without anyone mentioning the reason for their visit to this secret place nor its outcome. Ser Harlan did his best not to dwell on what he heard, he honestly wasn't sure if what he did hear was truth. He was old and his hearing was leaving him along with the rest. It wasn't until they had returned to the hall outside of his chambers that Prince Rhaegar spoke and Ser Harlan saw the gleam of hope in his eyes.

"I know that I have not been forthcoming with you, Ser Harlan, but I will. It is late and you look as though our endeavor has left you weary. Rest. I will come to you in the morning and we will discuss all that has happened here and more."

"Yes, Your Grace," Ser Harlan said as he watched Prince Rhaegar and his three companions disappear down the hall.

Dawn was approaching and Ser Harlan was weary and cold. He changed out of the roughspun that Ser Arthur had given him and back into his sleeping tunic, eager to return to the warmth of his feather bed. A gust of wind passed through the room and Ser Harlan had noticed that the shutters on the window ajar. He walked over to them, cursing softly to himself, wondering if Arthur had opened them when he had been there. _Was that why he was so cold?_ He pushed the shutter doors slowly, his hands fumbling over its lock, the cold night air making his joints ached and the task before him seemingly impossible. He paused, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. The faintest smell of lavendar rushing up before him.

"Ser Harlan," a whisper came from the table nearest the window leaving the knight frozen in place.

He fumbled with the lock once more, this time managing to fasten it, and turned towards the voice. It was there, Varys sat, surrounded by a small tray of fruits and moldy cheese.

"It has been so long since I have kept your company, Ser Harlan," the eunich said with a sly smile across his face. "Come and sit. Break your fast with me and let us take this opportunity to enjoy each other's company."

 _I do not know anything. He can't make me tell him things that I do not know._ Ser Harlan thought as he slowly sat down taking the seat opposite of Varys.


	2. LYANNA

Snow began to fall in the Wolfswood.

It was well into spring now, but it was not uncommon in the North to see snow fall as late as summer. These snows were different, however. They had started suddenly and without warning after weeks of hard rains and were said to reach as far as the Citadel. 'The Year of the False Spring' the Maesters were calling it and talk amongst the common folk declared it a sign of a long summer to come. But summer - as it was defined anywhere south of Winterfell - was of little concern to the North or to the Starks, who called it home.

Lyanna Stark was leaning against the trunk of a tree, her curly dark hair falling across her shoulders and long down her back. As the only daughter of Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, she had learned early to appreciate the long held traditions and superstitions that had set her people apart from the rest of Westeros. She learned that being 'of the North' meant more than just where you were from, but a mark of distinction that ran as deep as the blood in your veins.

Lyanna closed her eyes and lost herself in thought as the snowflakes danced across her rosy cheeks. She was grateful for the snows. Quite possibly the only person in Winterfell who was. The snows meant less time at her studies with Maester Walys whose days were spent treating the illness and injuries that always came with unexpected changes in weather. It was a small reprieve, truth be told, but one for which she was incredibly grateful. The Maester was middle aged, fat and balding with an annoying lisp that made it hard for her to pay attention to him when he talked.

For going on a year now - on her father's instruction - all Maester Walys did was talk to her. She was four and ten and newly flowered, meaning that she was a woman and as her father like to say, A woman must spend less time in her books and more time concentrating on the lessons of a proper lady. This meant sewing, dancing, singing songs - pretty much all the things Lyanna hated for that is what Southron girls learned at her age, not a girl of Northern blood. Let alone a Stark of Winterfell. However her father had been insistent and there was no arguing with him once his mind was set on something.

Her father was unlike other Starks. Ask any Lord in the North and they could easily tell you that the current Stark in Winterfell was the least 'of the North' as you could get. An ambitious man, even from a young age, Rickard had always made it known that he wanted nothing more than to restore the Starks to the glory they held when they ruled as Kings in the North. Instead of being mere Wardens as they had been since the establishment of the Targaryen dynasty three centuries prior. This meant looking beyond the walls of Winterfell, beyond the boundaries of the North, and towards the South - towards the game of thrones - where the ambitious could find power.

Her lady mother, however, did not share her father's ambitions and had been very vocal in dissent about his aspirations to move beyond his station right up until the day she died. It was only after her death did her father begin to act on these ambitions and the older Lyanna got the more her hatred grew for the man she held responsible for her death. Maester Wyllas had come to Winterfell from Kings Landing not a month before. The first Maester to ever set foot in Winterfell. Yet, despite all of his knowledge and years of training he could do nothing to save her mother's life.

Lyanna's mother had died bringing her brother Benjen into the world. A fever took her only a week after he had been born. She was only three, but it had hurt deeply. Lyanna never trusted Maester Wyllas after that. She blamed him failing to save her mother. For leaving her along in the world. Her brother's had her father but Lyanna only ever had her mother. When she was gone, Lyanna found herself to be the Lady of Winterfell. A Lady surrounded by boys and men. It shouldn't have been that much of a surprise to her father that she grew up more interested in swordplay than sewing. And despite all of Maester Wyllas instructions to the contrary that was unlikely to change anytime soon.

She would spend her days in practice yard with her brothers, learning sword play and archery and her nights would be spent learning the histories of Westeros. The songs of the brave knights and heroes she had learned from Old Nan as a child, but which were considered too improper now that she was a Lady. Lyanna didn't want to be a Lady - she wanted to be a knight. Nothing would have pleased her more than to spend the rest of her days on horseback, with a sword in hand, fighting alongside her brothers. Sadly, her father would never allow that to happen.

No daughter of mine will carry a sword! Her father proclaimed the day he had come upon her and her older brother Ned playing at swords in the practice yard. She was one and ten. Lyanna remembered vividly how her lord father had marched into the yard and snatched the wooden sword from her hands flinging it to the muddy ground. A shocked and startled Ned began to protest, stopping short when Rickard gave him a severe look. Lyanna could see the apologetic look in his eyes and her brother's courage soon faded.

Rickard grabbed Lyanna by the wrist, jerking so hard that he could have easily have ripped that arm from her body, and dragged her back to the holdfast. Screaming half-muttered curses along the way he confined her to her chambers, forbidding her from leaving for the remainder of Ned's stay in Winterfell. Lyanna was crushed. Out of all her brothers, Lyanna was the closest to Ned. He seemed to see and understand Lyanna in a way her father and her eldest brother, Brandon did not. The way their lady mother once had.

Ned had been visiting from the Eyrie where their father had sent him to foster with Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East. The Arryns, like the Starks, were an old dynasty able to trace their lineage back thousands of years to the time of the Andals. A powerful Southron lord, Jon Arryn taking Ned as his ward, cemented a bond between not only the two families but between two of the largest regions in all of Westeros. An alliance her father had no doubt arranged as part of a plan to expand his sphere of influence beyond his own borders.

Lyanna had been four when their father had sent Ned away and all she could do was cry. She cried for days, so hard and so long that she had made herself ill with fever and was ordered to stay in her bed. Ned had come to say his goodbye's to her still, dressed head to toe in silks that bore the colors of House Stark. He had looked silly, too tall and lanky, and she had told him as much. Ned had only smiled at the jape and climbed up on the bed to lay down beside her.

"I do not want to leave," he said as he rested a hand on her fever soaked brow.

Lyanna sniffled, "Then why are you leaving?"

"One day I am to be a bannermen to Brandon," he had told her in a stern commanding voice that sounded too adult to come out of the mouth of an eight year old. "Father said that fostering me with Lord Arryn will help to teach me how to become one."

"But -" Lyanna replied softly, but soon found herself overcome with tears. "What if you get to the Eyrie and like it so much you never want to leave? What if you get hurt or sick, like mother had gotten sick and you die -"

"Nothing will happen to me so long as I am under Lord Arryn's protection," Ned said as he wiped the tears from Lyanna's eyes. "I will come back, Lyanna. Winterfell is my home. There is nothing that could keep me away."

"Promise me," Lyanna replied as she closed her eyes to rest upon the feather pillow.

Ned kissed her lightly on the forehead, "I promise."

When she awakened from her fevered sleep, two days had passed and Ned was gone from Winterfell. Lyanna cried and battled the Maester's attempts to calm her. It wasn't until her brother Brandon had come to sit beside her was she able to quiet her tears. He had said nothing at first as he sat there looking at her with distress. It taken Lyanna a while to realize that he had been crying. Whether it had been for Ned or for her condition she could not say, but she always liked to think that Brandon would miss their brother just as much as she did.

Ten years had passed since then and Ned had been true to his word. He had returned to Winterfell at least a half a dozen times since he first left for the Eyrie and had accompanied Lord Arryn to tourney events and feasts that the Starks were likely to attend. His years at the Eyrie made Ned an honorable and at times a somewhat stubborn man. Not unlike their lord father if Ned had made up his mind on something, it was unlike to change and if he made a promise, you could count that he would keep it.

Lessons that their brother, Brandon, could benefit from learning.

Brandon Stark was everything Ned was not and Ned was everything Brandon could never be. Where Ned was calm, Brandon was wild. Where Ned was quite, Brandon was boisterous. Where Ned was even tempered, Brandon was easily tempered. Quick to anger, impulsive and irrational Brandon was said to have wolf's blood, as if that was supposed to excuse his reckless behavior and lapses in judgment. Despite everything though, Brandon had his honor. Well, his own version of honor. Brandon's promises were like the wind. Only as good as long as they served Brandon's needs and Brandon's needs were ever changing.

Snap.

Lyanna was broken from her concentration.

"It is just the wind," she mumbled softly. "Nothing more."

Snap.

Lyanna turned in the direction of the noise. It was then she remembered that she had rode out to the Wolfswood. She sighed in relief as she saw her horse move slightly from where she had tied it to a nearby tree. Chastising herself for being so foolish she turned herself forwards and leaned back against the tree.

SNAP.

This time Lyanna tensed. She could feel her heart begin to thunder in her chest. This was no time for fear, she reprimanded herself. Fear is what gets you killed.

The sound was much louder than it had been just moments before and had come from the opposite direction of where she had reigned her stallion. She tried not to panic. Carefully she moved her hand to pick up the bow that was lying at her feet. She had ventured out beyond the walls of Winterfell before and knew that there could be any number of dangers waiting for her far from the safety of her families protection. And while her father forbid her from carrying a sword, this did not mean she went on her sojourns unarmed.

She drew the bow slightly as she stood, readied in a defensive position. One foot in front of the other, she thought as she moved in a circle, her back to the tree to ensure she could not be ambushed. Lyanna continued this dance for half a turn when she noticed movement in the bushes before her. Stopping quickly, she drew the bow up. Her hands trembled, but for only an instant, before becoming as steady and still as a mountain.

"Whomever is there --" she shouted as loudly and commanding as she could.

Before Lyanna could finish the rustling stopped as a figure emerged, almost leaping, from behind the brush. Lyanna gasped in horror at the figure before her and without hesitation loosed the arrow.


	3. BENJEN

  
Benjen Stark sat uncomfortably at the foot of a long table. A large and rather delicate tome lay untouched before him. He had come to Maester Walys solar, as he did each morning, to work on his studies. Much to his surprise the solar had been empty. He had assumed there was a more pressing matter that garnered the Maester's attention. There always seemed to be something happening around Winterfell, especially when the snows came.

He had not come to the Maester's solar alone. His sister Lyanna had accompanied him as she always did. She did not, however, stay with him. Benjen did not think she would. Especially when it became apparent that the Maester was not likely to show. With their father away in White Harbor helping Lord Manderly repair a holdfast that had been damaged by the recent rains, Lyanna did what she could to take advantage of his absence.

Lyanna’s relationship with their lord father had become strained over the past few years. What exactly had led to this strain, Benjen was uncertain. He had tried to ask Lord Rickard, but he had taken great offense to the question. He had told him, in that commanding but belittling tone of voice he had, that there was nothing wrong with his relationship with Lyanna. Benjen knew he was lying. Either that or he had said it in an attempt to convince himself otherwise.

Benjen had then made the decision to ask their brother Brandon, but the mere mention of their sister’s name led to a stream of curses and irritated grunts. He thought it was wise to not to go any further. He had asked Lyanna one morning as they waited to begin their studies but she told him he was too young. When he had brought up the fact that he was one and ten, almost a man grown, Lyanna smiled a soft, sad smile and asked Benjen to not bring the subject up again.

Frustrated and desperate for an answer Benjen resorted to asking the only person who would know and possibly tell him: Maester Walys. He had waited until after their studies had concluded and Lyanna had already left from his chambers before he approached the old, balding Maester with his inquiry.

“Maester Walys?” he had asked in an uncertain manner.

“Yes, child,” the man responded with the lisp that often made it hard for Benjen to understand him.

“I was wondering,” Benjen stated grabbing the ends of his shirt as if to give him strength to continue. “If you knew why Father and Lyanna seemed so mad at one another?”

“They are not mad, sweet child,” he smiled softly as he began to replace books back upon their shelves. “Only enduring what every parent and child goes-s through at s-some point.”

“And what would that be?”

Maester Walys sighed and motioned for Benjen to take a seat near him. Benjen obliged. The Maester set a few more books upon the shelves before stopping completely to take a good long look at Benjen, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

“The struggle for power.” Benjen looked confused, he went to speak when Maester Walys raised a hand to silence him. “The most important lesson that I can ever teach you, Benjen, is that the world revolves around power. Those who do not have it go to great lengths to obtain it while those who have it struggle to keep it. And I am not just talking about military or political power. There is a personal power that we all have. And that is the most potent power of all. Everyone from the mightiest kings to the lowliest of the smallfolk have within them the power to change the world around them. A poor man can rise above his station while a wealthy man can become a pauper. All through the power of our own decisions. Even the smallest of acts can have a tremendous ripple and can effect more than just our own lives. Now, not everyone is aware they have this power or that this power has a weight to it. Otherwise not all poor people would be poor, would they? There are a few however, who are aware of this power. They know what it means. They know how to use it. Your sister is one such person.”

“Lyanna?”

The Maester nodded, “All women are powerful, Benjen, and most of them know it. Just by being a woman. That is why men fear them so. Their beauty has caused the birth and deaths of nations, caused the rise of simple men and the fall of great warriors. Lyanna, however, is a rare gift. She is beautiful. But she is also intelligent, cunning and most importantly – unseeingly manipulative. Women like this are incredibly dangerous. For women who have this power, crave power. They do not subjugate themselves to the world of men, as women should. Instead they wish to be independent. To do whatever they wish. This is not to be tolerated or entertained. Your father has done both for far too long and only now he is realizing how difficult it is to control her. As if he were trying to fight a battle with untempered steel. That is the cause of their discourse. Your father is trying to temper her, with little success.”

“And how does one temper steel?”

Maester Walys turned away from Benjen and began placing books back on the shelf. “Normally it’s a long and painstaking process. It has to be done very delicately as to not ruin the blade. However, if it needs to be done quickly, the best way is to use fire and ice. A path that your father is thus far reluctant to tread.”

He had more questions but the Maester began to slowly hum and continue to put books on the shelves. Benjen knew that whatever the Maester had said was likely the only answers he was going to get. Instead he retreated to the Godswood and sat beneath the heart tree contemplating what the Maester had told him. He always knew that Lyanna was willful and headstrong, even Ned acknowledged as much, but he didn’t see her the way the Maester had. He honestly didn’t believe their lord father did either.

Whether it was badgering Old Nan for more information on the histories of Westeros (or as their lord father like to call them, ‘wildly inappropriate fabrications”), playing at swords in the Godswood or anywhere that was out of the prying eyes of those who would tell their father (Lord Rickard had forbidden Lyanna from carrying a sword after she accidentally cut their brother Ned in a sparring match), or what Lyanna loved to do most, ride her horse beyond the gates of Winterfell (something their father had yet to discover), his sister was an adventurous soul with tremendous spirit. A person who would lay beside him when he had nightmares or share with him what little memories of their mother she had at times when he missed her terribly. She was more than just a sister to him, Lyanna was his greatest friend.

Lyanna was not fond of Maester Walys, and he was beginning to see the feeling was mutual. It was no secret that she held him to blame for the death of their mother. And while their conversation had convinced Benjen that he was not too fond of his sister or women in general for that matter, she really shouldn’t have but that particular blame on his head. They all knew too well that it was Benjen who was really to blame. His mother had given her life to bring him into the world and he could not help but feel resentment from his father and older siblings for the instrument of her escape from the world.

He hadn’t always thought this way. He had always been told that his mother had died of a fever when he was young. He never thought he would have been the cause. The possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind until he was nine. And even then it was purely accidental. Benjen had accidentally overheard a conversation between his lord father and Maester Walys that had gone into detail about one of the Stark serving girls, who had “died in a bed of blood” bringing her son into the world, much like his lady mother had done birthing him. Benjen was so upset that he had run from the holdfast and into the Godswood in tears.

He was kneeling before the heart tree sobbing when his brother Ned, who had been visiting the Eyrie, had found him a few hours later.

“There you are,” he muttered softly. “Father and Brandon have been looking for you.”

Benjen looked up to Ned with a tear-stained faced, “I know,” was all he could muster.

Ned sighed deeply and sat on a large tree branch where Benjen had been huddled.

I know that something is upsetting you and I know you do not want Father and Brandon to know what that would be.”

Benjen only nodded as he wiped the tears from his face.

“Now, I understand if you are afraid to talk to them,” Ned continued. “But I am hoping you are not afraid to talk to me.”

Benjen look to Ned, the sincerity and concern was evident in his eyes. He knew that if he told Ned something, he did not have to worry that anyone else would find out.

He knew deep down that Ned spoke the truth, it did not remove the pain from their eyes when they looked at him. Even Lyanna, his sister he loved more than anything, would from time to time look at him with tremendous grief. Benjen thought this way in spite the fact that his brother Ned had told him once that the gods took their mother away from them. Not him. Ned’s words were sweet but there was nothing anyone would say that would convince him otherwise. Benjen missed Ned, as they all did. Ned seemed to be a unifying force in their family. The only person who could mend whatever frictions set upon them. Those frictions seemed to multiply and deepen with the passage of time.

And so there Benjen sat at the foot of the table, flipping through the pages of a large and dusty tome, wondering if he should stay and wait for the Maester or wander out on his own adventure. The decision was made for him, however, the moment Brandon burst through the door, a look of annoyed frustration on his face.

“Where is she?!” he demanded as he looked to Benjen with a strikingly similar expression that their father wore in times of great anger.

“I don’t know. She left a while ago.”

“I checked in the Godswood. I checked with that old witch who fills her head with all those fairytales –“

Benjen looked to Brandon defensive, “Nan is not a witch!”

“She a senile old crone that should have been locked away years ago. Now I know you know where she is.”

Benjen did his best to quell his anger at the insult to Nan, “I don’t know!”

Benjen stepped inside and looked down at Benjen with a menacing stare, “You two are thick as thieves. Now, I even went so far as checking with that Cassel boy that has been teaching her sword play, and even he said that if anyone knew where she was, it would be you. Now, think carefully little brother. If there was any other place in this castle she would be, where would she go.”

Fear struck Benjen at his very core. He knew the look on Brandon’s face and the smell of his breath too well. His brother was unmistakably well into his cups. Which meant that his temper and his ability for self-control may as well be non-existent. As much as Benjen wanted to keep Lyanna’s secret safe, he knew that doing so would only rile Brandon up further, not a wise thing to do when he did not have his wits about him.

“She took Snow and went into the Wolfswood. There’s a grove not too far from the castle that she likes to go sometimes,” Benjen replied. Snow was Lyanna’s white stallion. She had the horse since she was a child and had given it the name traditionally bestowed upon highborn Northern bastards partly because she felt that the name eluded to strength as all bastards had to be strong to survive in the world and partly because she knew it would irritate their father every time she said it.

A look flashed across Brandon’s face that was a mixture of rage and panic, “Would you happen to know where this grove would be?”

Benjen nodded. Lyanna had shown him once while they were out on a ride in the Godswoods.

“Good,” Brandon said grabbing Benjen by the shoulder. “I will have the men prepare our horses. We are riding out to find her.”

Benjen knew it was better to not argue with Brandon at this point, he only hoped Lyanna would understand and forgive his betrayal.


	4. ARTHUR

 

He stood beneath the statue of the Father.

Dressed in the finest white silks and armor, as afforded to them as members of the Kingsgaurd, Ser Arthur Dayne led a silent vigil over his fallen brother. Ser Harlan Grandison, the oldest and most frail member of the Kingsgaurd had caught a chill and died in his sleep. The man had been brave and his service had been a long and faithful one. So Arthur had been the first of his brothers to gladly volunteer to stand vigil for the fallen knight. And stand he did, for seven days and six nights, undeterred and unmoving despite the weight of his armor, the throngs of mourners (both noble and common) who had come to pay their respects and after a few days, the unmistakable stench of death. It was the least he could do for a knight who had died of old age, a rare feat in their line of work.

The news of Grandison’s demise spread quickly throughout King’s Landing to a somewhat mixed reaction. There those who knew of Ser Harlan were saddened to hear he had passed but not overly upset by it. The man had little in the way of family as they had passed long before him and those relations left living were distant at best. There had been those who had fought beside him at one point who had spoken about his various deeds and honors and were sad more out of respect for his position than any sense of personal loss. There were those who knew of him who were happy to finally see the old man die as they felt he was too weak and feeble to be in his kind of position. And then there were his fellow brothers in the Kingsguard whose reactions were a mixture of all three with varying degrees of emotion to see the man put in the ground.

Prince Rhaegar, however, seemed to be the only person truly mourning the loss. The way a person normally mourns the death of someone they were close to. Those who did not know Rhaegar saw it one of two ways: as a noble gesture by the much loved heir to the throne over the passing of one of his loyal subjects or as yet another sign of his melancholy, something that King Aerys did well to hide from those outside of the inner most circles. Arthur knew better. Arthur, Rhaegar’s oldest and dearest friend, knew all too well that it was guilt that led Rhaegar to such a fit of grief. Guilt that their moonlit adventures in a wet and windy area of the castle had led to the old man’s death. Guilt was an emotion that Rhaegar wore too often and wore too well. It had followed him since infancy, when a fire had decimated his family on the day of his birth. An omen that forever hung over the young Prince like an executioner’s blade waiting to strike. A constant portent of doom.

It was no wonder then that the Prince was prone to fits of extreme sadness where he would lock himself away in his chambers for days on end, refusing visitors and often food, until the fit had passed and he was himself again. In times of extreme melancholia, Rhaegar would sojourn to Summerhall, the place of his birth, to spend quiet solace in the ruins of the old palace. He had told Arthur once that being there was as if he was staring death itself in the face. It gave him the courage to continue. Arthur found it to be a noble gesture for Rhaegar to have found strength in place that cause him so much pain. There were others, some members of the Kingsguard among them, who saw this as a sign of the ‘Targaryen Madness’ in the heir to the Throne. _He was the son of the Mad King_ , they justified, _how could he not be even a little crazy?_

Arthur found the whole idea to be ludicrous. True, there had been stories of past members of Rhaegar’s had suffered from one form of insanity or another, but one man’s sanity is another man’s genius. Baelor the Blessed was a perfect example. His devotion to The Faith and piety are revered by the annals of Westeros history. A gleaming example of what we all should live by. Many often forget that his religious zealotry led to paranoia causing him to raise a child to the ranks of High Septon because he believed he worked miracles; how he imprisoned his own sisters because he felt that they tempted him away from his devotion to The Seven; or that he starved himself to death in the hopes of cleansing himself of his lustful urges. People tended to look past all that and focus on all the good that he had done instead.

He often wondered how history would remember Aerys. The man definitely suffered from some form of insanity but he had done much good during his reign and Arthur wondered if years of triumphs would erase the years of failures. He highly doubted it however. As much as history was written by the powerful and therefore painted them in a much more gleamingly light then they may have actually warranted, it also loved a good story. More often than not it was scandal and rumor that fueled the history books. The more scandalous, salacious the story the more people liked it and the more people liked it the more it was likely to be remembered. Aerys, though, was little in the way of salacious or scandalous. By comparison he seemed a rather weak ruler. A man who had been held captive and imprisoned by his own countrymen. Not exactly someone to be revered for his great works, or feared for his vile deeds.

Rhaegar, on the other hand, would be different. Despite all of the whispers of his melancholy, it was clear to all who knew him that Rhaegar was destined for great things. Everyone who had ever crossed his path knew it. Something hard to exactly describe in words, one always got the feeling that when you stood with Rhaegar you were standing next to greatness. It was one of the reasons he was so well loved. There was just something about Rhaegar that endeared him to so many. He was intelligent, wise and just. Able to hold philosophical discussions with a Maester one moment to helping to restore the homes in Flea Bottom after hard rains, Rhaegar was a prince of his people, always willing to help. Always willing to serve.

Arthur watched as the rays of sunlight began to diminish in the Great Sept, signaling that his watch for his fallen friend was coming to an end. He stood ever more vigilant. A last sign of respect who a man who truly deserved it. When the sun could no longer be seen, and with the arrival of the Silent Sisters to carry Ser Harlan off to his final internment, Arthur gave one final bow before heading out the door. It was there that he met Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsgaurd, wore a somber, yet wholly expressionless face.

“Lord Commander,” Arthur stated as he stood to attention at Hightower’s side.

“This is not the time for formalities Arthur,” he replied, clapping Arthur lightly on the back. “We are both mourning the loss of a good man and a good knight. And most importantly, a good friend. I come to you as a friend, not a Lord Commander.”

“Gerold, then.”

“Gerold it is.”

The two made the trek down the steps of the Sept in silence. The loss of Ser Harlan still heavy on their minds. The Lord Commander had been a member of the Kingsgaurd for almost as long as Ser Harlan, had rode with the man during many campaigns and was the closest out of all of the men to the fallen knight. His loss had hit him just as hard as Rhaegar. Which is why he was not taken aback too much by his insistence in referring to him by his first name. Addressing him as Lord Commander was always a given due to the respect of his position.

“Aerys is looking to set Ser Harlan’s replacement.” Gerold stated as they began the long trek down Visenya’s hill and back towards the castle.

“Already?!” Arthur exclaimed. It was a tradition that a small grace period to pass before consideration started to replace a member of the Kingsgaurd. A way to honor the fallen knight and to show that he was no longer here, he was not easily replaced. While there was no set time period given for this, it usually ran for no less than seven weeks from the moment the knight was interred.

“It’s that spider’s doing,” Gerold hissed.

Arthur should have known as much. Lord Varys had the King’s ear. More so than Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, whose duty Lord Varys had usurped. There were few in court who trusted this foreigner who had gained such a position of power with the King. Rhaegar, especially, disliked the man greatly. Especially since he felt that Varys was fueling his father’s ever growing paranoia regarding him and his position. Ever since his return from the trauma of Duskendale, Aerys had begun to see enemies with every turn. Even amongst his own family. Rhaegar was no exception. He was younger than him. Universally loved by both noblemen and smallfolk alike. And most importantly, he was just coming into his power, while Aerys’ faded with each passing day. Aerys feared Rhaegar and Vary played into those fears with every opportunity. It unnerved Rhaegar that this man who had come from nowhere, stood in such a position as to dictate not only his own future but that of the entire realm.

“Rhaegar is, of course, displeased.”

Arthur sighed heavily, “What does he plan to do about it?”

“He’s gone to Tywin. Hoping that he can talk sense into him.”

“Will that work?”

Lord Tywin and King Aerys once strong relationship had been dealt a series of hard blows over the years. Beginning with the events of Duskendale, the arrival of Lord Varys and the King’s refusal to marry Rhaegar to Tywin’s daughter Cersei on the grounds that a King’s Hand served the King and he wasn’t about to let his heir marry a servants daughter. It had been a brutal blow to Lord Tywin’s reputation and one that left Lannister’s loyalty to the King in question.

“If Lord Tywin can put aside his pride long enough to show Aerys that breaking this tradition will be a slight to the noblemen and faithful alike. We may have a chance.”

“Well if anyone can convince Lord Tywin to set aside that golden pride of his, it’s our Prince."

“It’s not our Prince whom I question, Arthur. We both know the motivations of our Prince is just. The others with whom we have to deal with are another matter. One can tend a garden til it blooms but if there are snakes in the grass, it defeats the purpose.”

“I suspect that it isn’t the Tywin issue with which you are speaking of.”

“Ser Harlan’s death has left me ill at ease. We have just begun this undertaking and already it has cost someone their lives.”

Arthur gave Gerold an affronted glare,”Are you placing the blame of Ser Harlan’s death on Rhaegar?”

“Of course, I’m not. I just feel that this is a sign that maybe we should not be going down this path.”

“Rhaegar did not come to this decision lightly. Nor did he decide to go down this path without reason.”

“I know that and I understand his reasoning, but I just have reservations. I am not the only one.”

Gerold stopped suddenly in front of a tavern called _The Wailing Widow_.

“Why have we stopped here?”

“Despite my feelings on the cause, we lost a brother today Arthur. Oswell is waiting for us and Prince Rhaegar has given us leave for the night. So I don’t know about you, but I want to drink to Ser Harlan’s memory.”

Arthur nodded as he grabbed the handle of the tavern door.

“A night of memories and mead. We can discuss politics another day.

As he watched Ser Gerold walk inside, Arthur took one last look up at the Sept and smiled.

“Goodnight, Ser Harlan.”


	5. THE KEEPER OF THE GATES

The sound of bawdy songs and tawdry whores greeted them as they walked inside.

The three of them had endured a long day in the training yard and were in dire need of some relaxation. As he pointed to an empty table at a nearby corner he took a good look at his companions. Both boys, in his eyes, but men grown to the rest of the world. He remembered the day when they had first come to the Eyrie. They were children, not much older than his own son was now. Fresh faced and wide eyed the little lordlings had never known life beyond the walls of their homes. And yet they had been fostered away to one of the most remote places in all of the realm. Wards of his uncle, Jon Arryn, Lord of Eyrie and Warden of the East. He was not yet old enough to be considered a man grown himself when they arrived, and so he became their good friend. They looked to him with all the enthusiasm that a child would look upon an older peer and he was protective of them as if they were his own brothers. Now, years later, that relationship had little changed. Despite being a married man with a child of his own, Ser Denys Arryn still looked upon these two men with him as the boys they had been when they were still children. A right combination of curiosity and mischief about them both. Although, if he had to be honest, one was more mischievous while the other was more curious.

Robert Baratheon, the elder of the two, liked a good fight, a hearty drink, a willing wench – and little else. Despite being the rightful Lord of Storms End, Robert liked little of the politics that came with his position and more of its spoils. This often led him to make brash, reckless decisions with little forethought or care for the consequences. Having already fathered a bastard, Robert was notorious for playing with his cock more than his weapons leading him to gain a rather lecherous reputation. This was a bit of an embarrassment to his uncle Lord Jon, who had done his best to try and instill a sense of honor and duty into the young man who had gained lordship after the death of his father Lord Steffon Baratheon.

Ned Stark, the younger of the two, had a more inherent maturity. While he loved a good fight and could drink Robert well into his cups, Ned had a sense of honor that caused him to be slightly more pragmatic than his longtime friend. The second son of Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Ned didn't stand to inherit the lordships or the duties that came with the title as Robert had. So while he would never have to deal with the types of politics and decision making than came with being a lord, he was much better suited for it. Rarely did Ned make a reckless decision (and all the ones he had were the result of a situation that Robert had pulled him into). He took the time to carefully think his actions through, weighing the consequences before he would move forward. It was a quality that Lord Jon greatly admired and one of the reasons why he was attempting to broker with Lord Rickard a marriage between Ned and one of Denys' sisters. He had suspected primarily to bring Ned into the Arryn line of succession.

Denys knew as well as anyone that being Arryn brought with it a sense of misfortune. Tragedy seemed to befall their family in all manners. His Uncle alone had lost two wives and bore no children, leaving the heir to House Arryn in the hands of his cousin Elbert, with Denys being named Elbert's heir until such time as he produced a son. And while Denys himself had a son, there were no male heirs after him, meaning the fate of House Arryn in the hands of Denys' sisters. Since they could not rule the Eyrie, the control would fall into the hands of their husbands (and later to their sons), so it was important for Lord Jon to make matches for them with honorable men who would not exploit them or their power for their own means. Neither Denys, nor his cousin, felt at all slighted by this. Their Uncle was just being practical and cautious given their family history. And if anything befell him or any of the male line of House Arryn, Denys felt comfort in knowing that it would fall into the capable hands of a man like Ned.

It was the way of the world and he would be an idiot to protest it. House Arryn has been around since the time of the Andals and House Stark can trace its lineage back to the time of The First Men. The joining of these two ancient noble houses was something to be celebrated. As his Uncle always says,  _only the petty allow individual jealousy to get in the way of the needs of their family_. Denys tended to agree. Family first. It was the honorable thing to do and was the antithesis of their words: As High as Honor. Although Ned was largely unaware of the negotiations that were currently going on between Lord Jon and Lord Rickard, Denys knew that the boy thought of Jon as a second father, and would be honored to become a member of his family. While it was not uncommon to be discreet in manners of marriage contracts, both Lords knew that news of the possibility of joining two ancient houses could potentially be considered a consolidation of power to some of the more paranoid lesser noble houses who would try to make moves to prevent such a union. It was only logical to Denys for them to keep quiet until an official announcement was made to protect both Ned and his sister.

As Denys watched Robert's eyes narrow to a particularly buxom blonde woman with a sly grin and loose hips, Ned took a seat at the table, talking to the tavern wench about their drinks. The level of discomfort on the young man's face made Denys cringe. Ned was rather shy when it came to the opposite sex and his stalwart sense of honor made it almost impossible for him to seek the simple pleasures of a woman for even a night. Robert teased Ned relentlessly for it making the young man even more shy and self-conscious than he already was.

"There will be time to quench to quench that thirst later Robert," Denys said as he patted him on the back and led him to their table. "Why don't you sit with Ned while I rough up some ale?"

Denys could see Robert wanted to protest. However, taking one solemn look back at Ned, Robert relented.

"Aye, the night is young. And so am I," Robert replied as he went to take a seat near his friend.

Denys made his way to the bar fetching three pints of the best ale in the Eyrie. He had reached to pay when a hand came out from behind to stop him. He turned to see his cousin, Elbert, who took the liberty to pay for him. Denys said nothing until the barkeep was out of earshot.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he gave two drinks to a nearby wench and pointed her over to where Ned and Robert sat. Denys knew that his cousin didn't like to come to these establishments of his own free will as he enjoyed partaking in such activities in more private quarter. His presence was disconcerting. The fact that he had paid for a round made it alarming.

"We have had word back from King's Landing. A member of the Kingsgaurd has died."

"Who?" Denys said as he quickly took a swig of ale.

"Grandison."

"Not unexpected," Denys said with confusion. "The man was ancient."

"Ancient. Aye. Unexpected. Not. However, timing and circumstance are suspect, dear cousin."

"How did he die?"

"In his bed."

"The man was quite old Elbert, dying in his bed isn't a cause for alarm. In fact, given his position I would say it was a blessing."

Elbert paused before taking a look around, stopping briefly to to spy at Ned who was trying to fend off a rather buxom wench that Robert had sent in his direction.

"Rumor has it that he was spied with the prince and three fellow members of the Kingsguard stalking about the castle the night before he died --

"Prince Rhaegar is next in line for the throne it is not uncommon to see that he is protected."

Elbert looked to Denys exasperated, "I swear sometimes you are unbelievably thick. Please let me finish before you speak further."

Denys nodded.

"He was spotted with the Prince and three fellow members of the Kingsguard stalking about the castle the night before he died at a rather late hour. Late enough so that there were few eyes to spy them but not late enough where it would be considered normal to be walking about at that hour. It is believed that the Prince was off to meet with someone."

"Who?"

"No one knows for certain. But it has been rumored that a Wolf had come down from Winterfell to visit the Merman of White Harbor. Both men left shortly after for parts unknown. It was said that a ship from White Harbor was docked in the ports off Kings Landing for the better part of a week and set sail shortly after Grandison's demise."

Denys shot a quick glance at Ned before turning his attention back to Elbert. 

"The Lord of Winterfell is not someone who can just blend in. Neither is Manderly for that matter. What you are suggesting is impossible without Aerys being aware of it. Especially with that spider of his spinning webs about the Keep."

"He could, if he was there at the Prince's behest. Aerys isn't the only one with spies, Rhaegar has webs of his own."

Denys' patience with Elbert was wearing thin. He had come to drink away his troubles not be overloaded with new ones, "And for what reason would Prince Rhaegar have to meet with the Warden of North in secret?"

"Therein lies the question, cousin. The North, while expansive and underpopulated, is a seat of power. Ancient power. The Starks are long respected by many, and not just in the North. Should Lord Stark calls his banners for a cause, many others will follow."

"And what cause would that be?"

"Rebellion," Elbert whispered softly.

Denys sat his drink down and pulled his cousin by the collar to a desolate and empty space near the corner of the tavern.

"Are you mad?" he stated in hushed terror. "You should know not to speak of such things here. While he may be holed up in his castle, Aerys reach is wide and well known. What would make you even suggest such treason?"

"I am not the only one thinking it. There are whispers all over the realm of Aerys continued madness. The man is beginning to be more unhinged as time passes. There are many who think and want Rhaegar to take his place. Aerys, however, is not a man to abdicate. Force may be the only way to take him off the throne."

Denys threw up his hands in frustration.

"Don't pretend as this is the first time you have thought of such a thing, cousin. You know as well as I that if it were to come to it, Lord Jon would throw the banners of the Vale behind the Starks. We would have no choice but to follow his lead."

"Why did you bring this to me? Now? Could you not wait until we were back at the Castle?"

Elbert only shook his head,"As you said cousin, Aerys reached is far and wide. And it is better to be in a place where our conversation is less likely to be heard and better off excused as drunken misadventure should it be. Besides talk of Rebellion is only part of the reason for my visit."

"I fear to ask about the other."

"As I mentioned, Grandison died. And given his possible activities the night prior to his death, it is unlikely it was of old age. While I cannot begin to fathom how or by whom, all I can state is that there is now a position open on the Kingsguard. One that the spider has been urging the King to fill sooner rather than later. Even if it means bypassing the custom time of waiting."

"I am venture to guess he wishes to put someone loyal to himself in that position of power. If Rhaegar is planning what you propose he may be planning he would need proof. Going by Grandison's word alone wouldn't be enough. The man was old and it wouldn't be too far to suggest that he was ill informed of such tidings. What does this have to do with us."

"As I mentioned earlier. Ancient houses are powerful. The Arryn's are one of the few families who can trace their lineage back to Andal invasion of Westeros. Our words have meaning. So should Lord Jon be persuaded to make a suggestion for who might fill such a seat. And to do so in a grand spectacle as to deliver such a suggestion to the King himself it would be in His Majesties dishonor to refuse to take it under advisement."

"We are going to put our own man on the inside. Beat the spider at his own game." Denys was intrigued. "If I were to take your word cousin, I would assume that you were more involved in this situation than your conversation earlier suggested."

Elbert could only give a slight grin, "I have suggestions in mind, but you know how Lord Jon frowns on my extramarital activities. He would be more willing to be broached about such subject from someone of a sounder mind and reputation than myself."

"You want me to do your dirty work?"

Elbert's grin got only wider, "That my dear cousin, is what family is for."


	6. LYANNA II

The arrow struck true.

The awful howl that followed sent shivers down Lyanna's spine. A small whine followed by a pained growl caused Lyanna to lower her bow and get a good eye at her target. 

It was a wolf.  
  
Bigger and more mangy than any she had ever seen. Yet, despite the fear that ran through every fiber of her being at the mere sight of it, she was overcome with a strange sense of calm. There was something in its eyes. They were the color of the setting sun and radiated with a wild power that thrummed, it seemed, to the deepest depths of her soul. There was a pain there too and it was in that instant that Lyanna regretted what she had done. Dropping her weapon she ran to the wolf, but it was already to late. The animal had breathed it last breath before she had even fallen to the ground by its side. Fresh tears spilling down its face she yanked the arrow from its torso. A fresh river of warm blood coursed through, covering the pallid floor of the wood like a crimson blanket.  
  
The tears overwhelmed Lyanna as she sat crying over the body of the wolf. She had never taken a life before, and while it was true that the beast had stalked her and charged at her, no doubt in an effort to eat her, it pained her to have had killed the animal. She had come to the Wolfswood to get away from her sorrows only to have been met with an unimaginable grief. She closed her eyes and said a small prayer to the gods before getting up and walking back to her horse. It was a long ride back to Winterfell and if she had any chance of making it back before dusk, she had better make her leave.  
  
As she turned to head back a small rustle caught her attention. Immediately she reached for her bow when she heard a soft, muffled cry. With a trepidation she crept towards the large brush from whence the wolf had come at her. Pulling aside the branches, she peered behind them, her heart aching at what she found. There, secured amid the branches and leaves was a tiny grey wolf. Lyanna did not believe it possible to have felt any worse than she already did. The wolf that attacked her had done so not out of some predatory urge but the need to care for its young.  
  
Lyanna did not know what had come over her in that moment, why she had been overcome to do what she did, but she scooped down and picked the tiny creature up into her arms. Hugging it to her chest and close to the warms furs she saw that it had the same golden eyes as its mother. Just as wild and almost curious the animal buried its head closer to Lyanna's furs and gave a soft whimper that left Lyanna wondering when was the last time it had been fed. Staring at the pup and then back at its mother, she made a move that she knew was unnatural but with which she felt compelled to initiate.  
  
She walked over to the corpse and bent down beside it. Careful to keep the pup away from the stain of blood, she encouraged it to suckle whatever nourishment it's mother had left to give. Lyanna shivered as the pup took to it greedily, as if it had gone a long time without being fed. When it seemed as if the pup had had it's fill, Lyanna picked it up and once again buried it amid her furs.  
  
"I'm sorry about your mother," she whispered softly as she walked back to her horse. "It's my fault she's dead. Without someone to care for you, there is no chance for you to survive out here. That means I have to take care of you, at least until you can care for yourself. You have to be my little secret though, little wolf. I doubt if Father knew, he would let me keep you."  
  
As she prepared to mount her horse, it bucked slightly, sensing the wolf.  
  
"It's alright Snow," Lyanna hushed as she brushed the side of the horses mane to comfort it. "It's just a baby. It will bring you no harm."  
  
The horse seemed to relax to Lyanna's words as she placed the pup momentarily on the ground as she loaded the supplies. The pup immediately snuggled up against her feet.  
  
"It's only for a minute, little thing," she smiled as she finished quickly before picking the pup back up. Hesitating momentarily, she lifted the pup up above her head. "I mean, little girl."  
  
With the pup in hand, Lyanna mounted the horse and took off into the direction of Winterfell. Lyanna could feel the little pup snuggle closer to her as they rode, the cold winds causing her to slow gait of the horse. The snows were falling harder and that meant only one thing -- a storm was coming. Lyanna grimaced, knowing that with the strength and speed of the snowfall and the sting of the ice that fell upon her cheeks, the odds of making it back to Winterfell before the worst of it hit was next to impossible.  
  
Looking down a the pup, she knew there was only one choice to make. She pulled up on the reins and pulled Snow back into the direction from which they had just came. There was only once place that Lyanna knew of that could offer shelter to all of them. One place that Lyanna had not been to since her brother Eddard had left for the Eyrie. A place that had existed since the time of Aegon the Conqueror and one that up until fairly recently had been the home of Maesters and their ravens. What it was officially called, no one knew. She knew it by the name that Nan had told her. The name that the smallfolk whispered each time Maester Wylas had passed by in the training yard.  
  
The Blood Tower.


	7. BENJEN II

It took Brandon nearly two hours to sober up enough before Maester Walys allowed him to even touch a horse. And even then it was on the condition that they not go out alone. Martyn Cassel, a member of Winterfell's household guard and a close friend of Brandon's would accompany he and Benjen on the long journey to fetch their wayward sibling.

"You are the Lord of Winterfell in your father's-s absence," the old man replied with a consternation that made his lisp ever more profound. "You cannot jus-st go galloping out into the woods when you have been in your cups-s."

Brandon was thoroughly displeased. Benjen could tell by the look on his face.

"Be careful your words, old man, before I banish you back to that Tower of yours. That is where your kind belongs."

The mere mention of The Blood Tower caused the Maester to shudder. The Tower sat on the edge of Winterfell's border, built to house the messenger ravens and their keepers when the Dragon Kings made them a requirement in every holdfast. The Maesters who lived there were never allowed to live within the walls of Winterfell. The Lords Stark of old had seen to it. They mistrusted these strange men with their awkward loud chains who spoke of maladies they had never heard of and dabbled in potions that sounded as if they were part of the darkest of magics. Winterfell - and the Starks who resided within it's walls - kept the religion of the Old Gods and the Old Ways. They had little time nor patience for these Andal sorcerers. When the Dragon's made their decree the Former Kings, now Wardens, obeyed. That did not mean, however, that they had to like it. So they built a small keep on the outskirts of Winterfell's borders. Rising sixty feet into the air, made of stones as black as the night's sky and almost icy to the touch. Every Maester who ever served Winterfell had lived in that Tower.

His father had changed all of that when he had brought Maester Walys to Winterfell, and while this action changed the sentiment for many of his bannermen, it was not universal. Brandon, like Lyanna, was not very fond of Maester Walys but for entirely different reasons. Brandon was a young lord set to inherit the lands and titles of his father. With that distinction came responsibilities - as well as certain exemptions. Brandon grew entitled to having what he wanted, whenever he wanted it. This usually consisted of large amounts of ale, followed by a row or two and capped off with a long night with a willing wench. So usual were these activities that everyone in the North had come to know him as The Wild Wolf of Winterfell. Everyone, that is, except their Lord Father. That was thanks in part to the work of Maester Walys.

While everyone seemed to turn a blind eye to Brandon's behavior, excuse it because he was the heir of Winterfell with whom they would one day follow, Maester Walys always held Brandon accountable. Held him responsible for his actions and made it a point to ensure that no bad behavior ever went unpunished. But that wasn't the source of ire between the two. No, there was more to it than that. Maester Walys was more than just Brandon's moral compass, he was the keeper of his secrets. The one that Brandon turned to when he found himself in situations that neither his name nor his swagger could talk himself out of. While most people would be grateful to have someone to defend them in such circumstances, Brandon resented it, causing an almost seething hatred for the man.

He never thought much about the subject until fairly recently. Since their return from Storms End, to be precise. It was a tourney held in the memory of Steffon Baratheon. Benjen remembered how excited he was to travel, as it would be his first time to leave the North. All Benjen had talked about with Lyanna for weeks was how much he had been looking forward to see all the knights who would be competing in the tournament. Lyanna, who had been looking forward to it as much as him, was more interested in being able to see their brother Ned, whom she loved the most and missed fiercely. The trip had been long and arduous. They had traveled by horse to White Harbor, where they boarded a ship that took them the rest of the journey.

Benjen had remembered very little as he had spent most of the journey coughing up his insides - much to his sisters amusement. Once they had arrived and Benjen's feet had settled back on dry land his stomach seemed to settle as well and his mind turned back to the excitement he had felt when they had first began the journey. It was everything he had imagined: the bright colors of the banners representing the standards of houses from every corner of Westeros; the sights and smells of exotic food and drinks; the pageantry and spectacle of the lists; and most importantly, spending time with his brother, Eddard. Benjen was small when his older brother was sent away to foster at the Eyrie and while he had seen him several times since he cherished spending quality alone with his brother whenever he could. They had started the day with a private breakfast in Robert Baratheon's tent and spent the rest of the day walking the grounds. They stopped to talk to knights and lords of noble houses; stopped by a few merchants to buy gifts for Lyanna, Brandon and their Lord Father; and even stopped to watch a puppet show put on by a troupe of mummers from Dorne. It was the most memorable day Benjen had at the tournament -- and not just for the time he had spent with Ned.

After a long and exhausting day they had retreated to the Stark camp. They were bouncing around with wooden swords, Ned giving Benjen tips on when to duck and parry, when Martyn Cassel ran up to them flustered and exhausted.

"Eddard, might I speak with you?" he said trying to catch his breath while eyeing Benjen carefully. "Alone."

"Sure, Martyn," Ned said as he tossed down the wooden sword and turned to Benjen. "Practice those moves I taught you, Ben. I shall return momentarily."

He never did. Instead, a look that Benjen could only describe as white hot rage came across his face as he marched hastily in the direction of their brother Brandon's tent.

"Eddard, wait --" Martyn called as he ran after Ned.

"I'm going to kill him!" Ned screamed grabbing Benjen's attention.

"Now, Eddard, nothing actually happened." Martyn bellowed as he ran after him.

Intrigued, Benjen put down his wood sword and ran after them. By the time he had reached the outside of Brandon's tent, Eddard had already entered. The sound of their screaming kept him just short of entering. Instead he took a knee near a cart of fruit, allowing him to see and hear without being seen. He could see his brother Brandon sitting on the edge of the table, Maester Walys attending to a nasty cut on his brother's left arm; Ned was standing directly in front, anger and consternation causing his features to become dark.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ned asked Brandon with the hint of distaste in his voice.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Brandon bellowed as he pushed the Maester aside to come face to his face with Ned. "What's wrong is that bitch cut me --"

Ned punched Brandon in the face sending him back against the table. Benjen jumped as he saw deadly rage leap across Brandon's face. Jumping up he charged at Ned, but was held back by Martyn and another man, Benjen recognized as William Dustin.

"You're drunk," Ned spat as Brandon's rage began to cease.

"So what if I am? Tell me brother, since when is it criminal for a man to enjoy a few cups of ale with his friends?"

"It is criminal," Ned replied. "When it impairs your better judgement. Brandon, do you realize what happened here?"

"I was attacked that is what happened!"

Ned grabbed Brandon by the face, a pained expression came across his eyes.

"Brandon, if Maester Walys had not found you when he did -- what you could have done -- it sickens me to even think of it."

"I did nothing wrong! I am the future Lord of Winterfell and as a future Lord it -- "

Maester Walys got up from his seat, a dangerous look set upon his eyes as he looked at Brandon.

"Let me make one thing, very, very clear to you boy. You are not one to judge what is and is not appropriate. Now, I shall blame your current insolence on having been in your cups but let it be known that you are lucky that all she managed to slice was your face. We can easily write that off as a sparing injury from your brother. If there is anything I can teach you, Brandon, is that even the flap of this tent has eyes and there isn't a soul living that wouldn't jump at the chance to tell the whole of the kingdom what happened here today."

"I did nothing!"

"You didn't have to. Words are like wind, young lordling, even the tiniest breeze can cause chaos once it picks up speed. All anyone needs is the tiniest whispers and word will have reached all the way across the Narrow Sea before you even returned to Winterfell. Do you have any clue what such accusations will do to your father? To your family? They don't need to be true. Lies carry more weight in this world than the truth any day."

"I didn't see her," Brandon stated as the reality of his word sunk in. "I didn't see her. I don't know who or what I saw but it wasn't her. I would never hurt her."

"And you could have done much more than hurt," Maester Walys said as he finished attending to Brandon's wound. "But you didn't. And it's over now. The best thing for us to do is move on and forget it ever happened."

"You cannot be serious?" Ned asked looking at the Maester with utter confusion.

"I am deathly serious, Ned. If we want to keep people from talking the best thing we can do is to be thankful it wasn't anything more than a few cuts and bruises and move on with our lives."

"That will be easier said that done," Martyn replied. "You don't know her like we do."

"Leave her to me, I will speak with her about this."

"Like hell you will."

"We will be leaving here the day after tomorrow, Ned. You will be returning to the Eyrie. We to Winterfell. I will be dealing with the aftermath of this, not you. It is best to let me handle this my way."

  
Ned went to protest when Brandon raised a hand to dismiss him. "Just let him do it Ned. The last thing we need is for father to find out."

"Brandon, something like this cannot go unpunished."

"And it shall not," the Maester replied. "Brandon will sit his penance the first heart tree we come across on our journey home. He will sit in quiet prayer for an entire day and night with no food, drink, or distractions."

"Where is she?" Ned asked looking at the Maester with contempt. "I wish to see her myself."

"She is resting in her tent. She was hysterical, so I gave her some dream wine under the guise that she fell from her horse."

With a huff, Ned took one long look at Brandon and walked from the tent. Benjen never knew what exactly happened but he knew that it had to have been something bad. Whatever it was, neither Ned did not speak to Brandon for the remainder of their visit, nor was he there to see them off. He had wondered what had happened. Wondered if he should ask but after seeing the looks of distaste on his brother's face he decided against it and left it alone. He had tried to ask Lyanna, who always seemed to know and was always eager to tell him, but she was very quiet on the subject. She told Benjen it was nothing and they were best to leave it alone. She spent most of the voyage home in her cabin feigning sea sickness and almost all of the ride back to Winterfell near the back of the caravan -- and as far away from Brandon as possible. Whatever Brandon did, Lyanna had not forgiven him for and still held him in judgement of. And even now, the two still held a combative relationship. The only commonality they seemed to share was their distrust of Maester Walys, who only had to mention the words Storms End in his brother's company to invoke his ire.

And as they set out of the gate of Winterfell, Benjen worried about his brother's temperament.

Brandon was already angry with Lyanna -- Benjen feared what he would be like when they actually found her.


	8. THE RESTLESS LION

Tywin Lannister wrinkled his nose at the stench of decay that embodied the throne room.

Ever since Aerys return from Duskendale he had been reluctant to bathe and seemed to do whatever it took to ensure that he exemplified uncleanliness. At first Tywin was certain it was a result of the paranoia that had followed the King from his place of captivity. However he was beginning to suspect that Aerys had found some sort of amusement in making it incredibly difficult for those who had to be near him to be comfortable in his presence. One person who did not seem to be affected by the stench was Varys, who stood to the right of the Iron Throne. It was a place normally reserved for The Hand of King, his place. Varys knew that. He knew that underneath that blank of expression that always lied across his face was a triumphant smile. He had finally ended up where he had always planned to be.

This caused Tywin dislike Varys a great deal.

Don't get him wrong, he respected him for being able to pull himself up from nothing into a position of honor at court, and if it had been any other position at which Varys sought, Tywin may have actually come to like him. However the position he was looking to usurp was his own and Tywin wasn't about to let decades of hard work and sacrifice be disturbed by a fat, balding foreign eunuch. He was the man who toppled an entire House to dust for simply implying they were on the same level as he. There was little doubt that Tywin could topple a nameless man. Yet, Tywin grew cautious. For he knew that men with no names where those more wiling to risk for they had no family to dishonor. Knew that Varys was gathering friends and allies through the favors that he encouraged Aerys to doll out to any man of noble birth willing to bend before the King and pay salutation to his very royal seat.

As he stood beneath the Throne, Tywin knew that he would have to make the King see reason. It was one thing to curry favor for groveling upstarts, to burn dissenters and challengers to your power. Those actions were explainable and sometimes no less avoidable. However, to do what Varys had suggested would be a madness they could not afford and Tywin had spent the better part of the day trying to make the King see reason. The argument had been long and arduous and he was beginning to lose patience.

"Your Grace, it is imperative to understand that The Kingsgaurd are more than mere soldiers trusted to protect the life of the King. They are a sacred institution respected and protected by the common people and faithful alike. To abscond such sacred tradition where they are concerned could be seen as not only disrespectful to traditions but as a blasphemous insult to the Seven themselves."

"One of my guards has died Lord Tywin," Aerys hissed as he shifted uncomfortably on the Iron Throne, "Why should I not be able to replace him?"

"No one is putting to question your right to replace him, Your Grace, merely to have you keep in mind that Grandison loyally served three generations of Targaryen Kings. He was much loved and respected."

"It is said that there were thousands of mourners that lined the Sept of Baelor, some for the entire seven days in which he was interred, just to pay respect to him Your Grace. He was very well loved in this city." Varys interjected giving a small nod in Tywin's direction.

 _A bold lie._  Tywin thought.

There had been many mourners, but Grandison was a relic. Those who paid their respects did so more out of historic curiosity and sentiment than actual love and affection. The Spider had used his influence over the King to turn the tide of the argument in his direction. For what purpose, he did not know, but it caused him to balk at the sentiment.

Nevertheless continued his argument, "To replace Grandison without adhering to the proper period of mourning would be seen by some as insulting. Grandison was a man of legendary feats whose contributions to the safety of not only the Targaryen dynasty but the Realm itself. It garnered him the love and respect of multiple generations of your subjects. You must see Your Grace that it at least affords him the right to the seven weeks of mourning traditionally given to men of his caliber."

Aerys looked at Tywin cautiously before turning to whisper something in Varys ear. The sight was unnerving to Tywin.

"Then let it be done. Give this man his seven weeks. However on the seventh day of the seventh week I want you to personally deliver me his replacement, Lord Tywin."

Varys expression turned to shock, "Your Grace, should it not be you that the decision should lie with? After all it is your House - your dynasty - whose safety is at stake."

"That is why I have put the task in Lord Tywin's lap. He is my Hand. He has faithfully served me without fail. His judgement is one I trust in this matter."

"An honour for which I am truly grateful Your Grace." Tywin shot a smug smile at Varys. "Now if you will excuse me, I must begin attending to the mourning festivities."

Aerys nodded and Tywin turned to leave. If he had been a simpler man he would have considered this to be a decisive victory against the Spider. But he knew better. Varys had been a mummer after all. Whatever he was playing at Tywin had the means to find out. It was Varys who had put the idea of replacing Grandison so quickly into Aerys mind to begin with. To have him to pay favor to Tywin's argument as he did was suspicious and left him ever more guarded. As he exited the throne room he saw Prince Rhaegar and Arthur Dayne standing off to the right of the door.

"I did as you asked," Tywin said as he walked over to the Prince and stopped before him. "Your father will adhere to the seven week mourning period for Grandison."

"Why do you not seem more pleased by this victory, Lord Tywin?"

"The Spider continues to spin his web, my Prince. To what end I do not know. But I mean to find out."

Rhaegar nodded, "Then do so, Lord Tywin. The control that Lord Varys has over my father is troublesome for all of us. He is a man whose means and end are unknown. I feel that it is of great importance that we do what we can to ferret out his motives. Do you not agree Lord Tywin?"

Tywin nodded. He had not been deaf to the whispers of Rhaegar. Talks of treachery and deceit. Clandestine meetings with various men of power throughout the Realm. Talks that he meant to take the Iron Throne for himself. While many spoke of these things with scorn or disbelief, Tywin met them with cautious optimism. He had talked openly after Duskendale of his thought on Rhaegar's leadership. How he thought of him as a capable leader. Someone that Westeros needed instead of a meek and feeble King afraid of his own shadow. 

"Indeed I do," Tywin said looking around cautiously. "However I feel such speech be better saved for a more secure location. Every brick in the castle has ears nowadays. I would so enjoy your company for dinner in the Hands Tower and we could discuss such matters at greater length."

"I would be honored, Lord Tywin, but I must respectfully decline. I have already promised to accompany Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell in their journey to return Ser Harlan's bones to his family in Grandview. I shall be gone but a fortnight. Mayhaps we can postpone such discussion for another time?"

Tywin tried to not show an affront to such a slight, "Of course, my Prince. We can take up the matter upon your return."

"Thank you again, Lord Tywin, for taking up this cause with my father."

Rhaegar gave Tywin a quick nod before he and Ser Arthur turned to leave. The boy still mistrusted him. That was certain. However, Tywin knew now more than ever that the Prince was indeed up to treachery of some kind. A crown prince does not travel all the way to the Stormlands to simply return the bones of a fallen guardsmen. If he was ever going to discover what Rhaegar had planned he had to get someone into the Prince's inner circle or perhaps, turn the loyalties of someone who already was. After a moment, a wide grin grew across Tywin's face.

He knew exactly what he had to do.


	9. ARTHUR II

"You do know that Lord Tywin will not take too kindly to your rejection of his dinner invitation?" Arthur said, closing the door to Rhaegar's chamber behind him.

"Of course," Rhaegar repeated as he walked over to his desk and sat down near a stack of old parchments."While he did us a great favor by swaying father's opinion on Grandison, I am not yet ready to consider his loyalties have turned to our favor."

"If anything I say we have only raised his suspicions. I wouldn't be surprised if he weren't trying to find a way to worm one of his spies into our midst."

Rhaegar looked up from the parchments, a melancholy look about his demeanor, "I am actually looking forward to it. The enemy you know can be one of the best allies you may ever have."

Arthur noticed the change in Rhaegar's demeanor immediately. He knew it well. The Prince was no stranger to melancholy, but it was an ere he wore more often lately than he ever had.

"A dragon for your thoughts, Your Grace?" he asked as Rhaegar gestured for him to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk.

"I am not certain if Lord Tywin's loyalties will ever truly be ours. The man is nothing if not an opportunist. The kind that would swear loyalty so long as the outcome landed in his favor."

"That is an affliction that Lord Tywin is not alone in suffering from, my Prince. Loyalty is a rare gift in the world today."

"I refuse to believe that to be true Arthur," Rhaegar said as he studied a particular parchment with tremendous attention. "We must not allow ourselves to give up hope in our fellow men. Too often amity is the death of trust. And when trust has been lost, faith is not too far behind."

"There is a fine line between hope and trust."

Rhaegar nodded, "As there is a fine line between caution and paranoia. A lesson that my father has surely forgotten, if he ever knew it in the first place."

Arthur noticed Rhaegar studying one of the parchments with particular attention. A look came across his eyes that made him seem aloofly hopeful. Arthur knew that look well. It was another of Rhaegar's favorites.

"If we succeed my Prince, everything will change. Not just here in King's Landing but all over Westeros."

"All over the Known World, Arthur. If I am right about what's to come, it has to. For too long we have been complacent. There are more important things to be worried about than that iron monstrosity everyone covets so dearly."

"It's the wars of the everyday people worry over most, Your Grace. Hunger. Disease. Acts of the Gods. I doubt that they would worry too much about the truth, even if we were to enlighten them." Arthur said taking a seat besides Rhaegar. "You are My Prince. My King. You are also the closest and most dear friend I have ever had. I say what I do to you now in the vein of frienship. Will it be worth it? What we are proposing will cause war. You must know that. Is tossing the realm into chaos worth some words written long ago by dead men?"

Rhaegar looked at Arthur with conviction as he grabbed the Kingsguard gently by the neck, "I value our friendship for this reason. For your ability to openly question me is one of the reasons I need you at my side. I know what I am asking of you and of our people. We will be walking through the Seven Hells and will be asking those who follow us to walk along with us. There is no other choice. The alternative - is far too horrifying. A long sleeping enemy wakens, Arthur, at a time when their very existence has fallen into myth and legend. This is more than just the words of dead men, Arthur, it is destiny. I am not angry at your doubt. There are men who doubt that dragons ever existed, despite their skulls lying down the hall for all to see. And you know why? Because they will never have an opportunity to see them. Yet there are men who do believe that dragons once roamed the skies and yet they will never have the opportunity to see their skulls. They have nothing to go on but the words of dead men and their belief that they are real. I am telling you, Arthur, as I stand here before you I believe with all of my heart and soul that a darkness is rising in the North and we must be prepared to stand against it. These are my people, Arthur. What kind of King would I be to ignore something I believe to be a serious threat to my people on the grounds that most people would write it off as mere stories."

While there was still a sliver of doubt in Arthur's thoughts, it took merely looking at Rhaegar to convince him of his cause. The Prince had that way with people. They looked up to him. They believed in him like Arthur belived. And they would follow him into the Seven Hells if he asked it. Perhaps that is what Arthur feared the most. Blind loyalty taking the place of reason. Arthur loved Rhaegar like he was his own brother and knew that unlike his father he was doing what he believed was best for the realm. That was enough to put his mind at ease.

"But do you really think this idea of yours was wise," Arthur said as he got up from his chair and began to pace once more. "Northmen are particularly prickly when it comes to their honor. What your propose would be a significant blow to both the North as well as your own."

"The thing you must realize the most about the North, Arthur, is that honor is everything. Which is why my proposal works so well. House Targaryen owes the Starks of Winterfell a tremendous remuneration that has gone too long unfulfilled. Lord Rickard is a man of honor, a true Stark to the core, but a man with tremendous ambition. Offer a man who seeks to rise not only his family but his people to the autonomy they hold so dear and prior arrangements are easily discarded. To return the North to autonomy and the Starks to the status of Kings of the North will be well worth the price paid for it. We need the Northmen if we have any hope of protecting the realm. They are our first line of defense."

"Say this works, and Lord Rickard agrees to what you propose. What of Dorne? You know very well that honor means as much to the Dornish as it does the Northmen, maybe more so. Thinking of what this will do to Elia - I don't see how her brothers or her people would support any cause we have to offer."

Arthur could see the sadness creep upon Rhaegar's features once again,"Elia fully supports this decision. She will come to convince her brothers of it in time. Elia is again with child. Considering how bringing Rhaenys forth nearly killed her she has been confined to her chambers with the exception of attending services at the Sept. The Maesters say that she has a malady of the heart. One that she has carried with her since childhood. Bearing children has only made this condition worse. The Maesters told her she could not bear anymore children, that the strain would be too much. They recommended we end it, but Elia refuses. If she survives the birth, the Maesters have said that it will most likely shorten her life. She is not expected to live to see her children reach adulthood."

"Rhaegar," Arthur said there aghast. He knew that Princess Elia had always been frail in health, but never knew it was this bad. "I am so very sorry."

"As am I, dear friend. I have always been fond of Elia but have never really loved her in a way that she deserves to be loved. Her devotion to me fills me with tremendous guilt and regret. Especially with her support in this. After the birth of the child, we are to head to Dorne where we will sit down with Doran and tell him everything. If Elia gives her blessing, her brothers will not refuse. They love her too dearly."

"Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"Fetch me a trustworthy raven. One that can be easily identified and intercepted before it reaches the Maesters. I believe I have swayed the Northemen to our cause. However for that to even work there is one other person whose support I must win over."

With a nod, Arthur headed out of Rhaegar's chambers. Once the man was out of sight, a small blonde girl emerged from behind a set of heavy drapes. With an unearthly quiet she moved her way on to the outside terrace where she quickly jumped to a secondary terrace and into the room next to the Prince's chambers.

There a fat, bald man who smelled like lilacs was waiting to hear what she had to say.


	10. THE DARLING OF THE VALE

Denys Arryn stood in the practice yard watching Ned and Robert trade blows. It had been a long night full of wine and celebration. As usual the future Lord of Storms End celebrated harder than the rest. It was surprising to Denys how much Robert could drink himself under and yet be awake and ready for a good sparring after only a few hours. Ned, on the other hand, did not share his friends constitution. The Lordling was having a hard time keeping up with Robert and it was obvious to all that a long hard night of drink had taken its toll.

"Oh come now Ned," Robert spat as he easily relieved the young Stark of his sword. "You cannot tell me that one night in your cups and you are as useful as a babe on its name day."

Ned stood with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"That is the last time - you will convince me - to drink as much as I did."

"Oh, so you're trying to blame it on me now," Robert bellowed in a laugh that caused his entire body to shake. "It's not my fault that you cannot handle both your drink and your weapons."

"Shut up Robert."

"I know that it can't be a Stark thing either. I mean Brandon can drink himself silly and still beat a man's ass into the ground."

The mere mention of his older brother caused a change in Ned. He reached down for the sword and charged Robert with all his might. Catching the Baratheon boy off guard, he fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Both men lay momentarily stunned on the ruddy, mud fueled earth before both broke into fits of laughter. Denys smiled at the sight. Being Ned's friend since he was a small child, Robert always knew the right buttons to push to light a fire in his friend. The ever quiet Ned lived in the shadow of Brandon. The heir to Winterfell was everything Ned was not and there wasn't a day that went by that someone did not remind him of it. He felt sorry for the lad in that way. Ned was a fine man, a great leader in his own way, and yet, he would forever be cast aside for someone whose behavior reeked of spoiled immaturity over the crime of coming forth second from his mother's womb.

"Copper for your thoughts, cousin," came an all to familiar voice from behind him.

Denys turned around, slightly startled.

"You really need to know to not sneak up on a man like that Elbert. If I were armed, one may have lost his head."

Elbert only laughed, "I'd love to see the day when you of all people could catch me off guard."

"What do you want?" Denys asked turning to his cousin, a look of annoyance across his face.

"What do you think?"

"A full day has yet to pass and you come to me looking for answers. Our Lord Uncle is busy tending to matters of the Vale. It is highly doubtful that I would even be able to see him this day, let alone this week. We only spoke of this matter last night, I see not the reason for such urgency."

"You truly are thick, aren't you?"

Denys smiled wryly,"Keep calling me thick and you will have to find yourself another go between."

"Oh, don't take things so personally."

"Need I remind you that it is my own reputation and good standing with Lord Jon you are asking me to risk, dear cousin. Not to mention its going to take time to find someone that can be trusted with such a task. If we are to be sending in spies, we need to make sure that they are up to the task."

"Oh, I can think of one person in particular, dear cousin, who would be more than amiable."

Denys stared at Elbert in a moment of confusion before the realization began to slowly dawn on him.

"You are insane."

Elbert grabbed his cousin by the shoulders, "He is everything we need, Denys. He's loyal, trustworthy, and bound by honor."

"Lord Jon has plans for him. And besides, he doesn't know the first thing about politics. If we send him to Kings Landing, he will get eaten alive."

"Do you really think being married to one of your sisters would do him any better? And you know as well as I do that Lord Jon favors him. Whose to say that he won't pass us over to give him the Eyrie?"

"Is that what this is? You are afraid of losing you're position as Heir to the Vale? Are so so frightened that you are willing to throw a boy to the wolves? If this is your line of thinking, cousin, I want no part of it."

Denys turned back to Robert and Ned, his face a mirror of irritation flashed across his face.

"Robert, Ned, that's enough for one day. Head on up to the castle and go break your fast."

The men nodded as Ned helped Robert up. Laughing they threw down their tourney swords and headed back towards the castle.

"I will not allow it, Elbert. Neither will Lord Jon. If you want me to go along with your plan, you find another candidate."

"Denys -"

"I mean it, cousin. I will support this ridiculous plan of yours on one and one condition only: we leaved Ned Stark out of it."

Having said that Denys turned his back on his cousin and walked away.


	11. LYANNA III

She felt the cold deep in her bones

Her Lord Father always told her to beware of the cold. Snows came and went and were nothing to a child of Northern blood. They were easily handled. The cold, however, was a subtle and vicious. It crept up on you like a lion stalking their prey. Brandon said its not snow, but cold that kills a man. In his many journeys with father to visit the Night’s Watch, they had seen as much. Men so overcome with cold that they fell to the ground never to awaken; or men so delirious that in their madness they were overcome with warmth and stripped themselves down until they were as naked as their name day, freezing to death instantaneously.

Lyanna wondered which of those fates would befall her. She had rode Snow until the ground became too treacherous for riding, and taking the reigns in her hand they preceded on foot in the direction of the Blood Tower. They had been walking for a good mile before she realized that she was lost. She had stopped a few moments to try and recover her sense of direction, but discovered too late that it was the worse thing she could have done. She had managed to find the right path back towards the Tower, but it would come with a tremendous price. It was in that moment, that the cold first found her

It stayed with her on the long trek back towards the Tower. So determined was she to make her way to the long abandoned structure that it took her a while to realize that the wolf, bundled tightly in the fears near her chest, was becoming her only source of warmth. When she realized that the cold was upon her, Lyanna once again harkened back to the words of her eldest brother, who had told her that the only way to combat the icy threat was to keep moving and find a place to get warm. So despite the growing dread that fell upon her, she soldiered on.

The Blood Tower could not have looked more foreign. Standing taller than any tree in Winterfell, with the exception of the Heart Tree at the center of the Godswood, The Tower was pillar shape and constructed of a strange black stone that shone almost red when hit by the light of the sun. Maester Walys had told her once that the stone came from the Targaryen ancestral castle Dragonstone. According to the legend Northern Stonemasons had built the structure half a dozen times, each meeting with ruination, until the Dragon King took it upon himself to see the structure to its completion. He had sent two dozen of his own Stonemasons along with thousands of rock dug up from the mines of Dragonstone. Once he was finished, the structure never again met with ruination

Accept maybe, for the passage of time. While it outlived the Dragon King who built it and survived through many of the others that followed in his footsteps, it had seen better days. While still beautifully intimidating to behold, it was beginning to show signs of neglect and disrepair. However, none of that matter to Lyanna. The structure looked sturdy enough for shelter and the cold in her bones needed to be out of the storm. She walked into the courtyard, where not a tree stood for a mile around. Smallfolk attributed this to the Maester’s black magic but Lyanna knew better. Her Lord Father had explained to her long ago that the trees had been uprooted in order to make room for the stables and a nearby privy.

Much to Lyanna’s relief the stables looked to be in fantastic condition. Brandon said that Maester Walys still traveled here frequently as it was storehouse to many books and supplies that their Lord Father was not comfortable bringing to Winterfell. There were enough boxes to fit four horses and she led Snow by the reigns she noticed that the Maester had been their quite recently. There was fresh straw and water in a box near the far left of the barn. She would have liked to have stayed with Snow but she needed warmth and knew a fire would only scare the horse. As Lyanna turned to make her way out of the barn she was left frozen in her tracks by a small black dog that stood between her and the doorway

From the looks of it, this was more than likely one of Winterfell’s kennel dogs that their father had sent along with Maester Walys for his own protection. The Maester refused to ride with a guard and so taking a dog with him was the only compromise. Lyanna took a cautious step forward, only for the dog to growl. She needed to get to that tower before the cold overtook her, but knew that she was too exhausted to outrun the dog. Lyanna took another step forward, only for the dog to make another growl. Her heart sank as she reached into her back pocket to draw out a hunting knife that she had borrowed from Brandon. As she reached out to put the blade between her and the dog, the wolf pup in her furs gave a small whimpering noise. Lyanna looked at the dog, which looked at her with a strange confusion until the wolf pup yelped once again

Preparing to strike in anticipation of the dog attack, Lyanna was caught off guard when it began whimpering along with the dog. Curiously, she put the knife away and took the wolf pup from beneath her furs. Once the animal was within sight, the dog whimpered loudly and began to affectionately nip and Lyanna’s feet. It was then she heard it – a chorus of whimpering coming from one of the far boxes in the stable. No longer fearing the dog, she walked over to find three small pups on a pile of hay. The dog brushed past Lyanna with excited fury and lay beside them. Immediately the pups began to whelp and taking a look at he wolf pup, she came up with an idea. Bending down beside the dog, Lyanna led the wolf pup towards the other little pups and waited. Within moments the wolf pup began to feed.

Smiling Lyanna got up and watched as the dog began to groom the wolf pup along with her own. Knowing that the wolf pup would be safe in the stable, Lyanna barricaded the door from the outside and started to make her way towards The Tower. She did not make it far, however, before darkness swirled in front of her eyes and she fell to her knees beneath unsteady feet. As the world continued to spin around her, Lyanna realized that she was no longer cold. And while in her rational mind, she would have been terrified at that she found she didn’t quite mind. No, as she collapsed face first onto the snow, the darkness making her vision ever more impossible, all she could think of was how she was finally warm. And as she closed her eyes, it was the warmth that comforted her along with the winds that called her by her name.


End file.
